RENT: The Hand Gropes
by YourPrettySmileYourSilhouette
Summary: This is my first fic (oh my goodness). Rent is my LIFE! Angel receives bad news from the doctor and Collins is there to comfort him. Very sad (even if I do say so myself; I got pretty teary writing it) and wasn't sure whether to put Romance as a genre rather than Tragedy, but went with Tragedy because it seems more tragic than romantic. I do not own RENT or any related content. 3


"I'm sorry," says the doctor. He can't look at me, so stares at the wall just above my head. His hairline is receding; I can't help but notice.

"Your CD4 count is 39."

I freeze, not certain of what this means. I haven't seen a doctor in over a year, and then I didn't know what they meant by their CD4 counts and viral loads and disease progressions, but it all sounds shiny-white and wipe-clean and frightening. I try to think of things I know, things I want, true things: steady beat on the pickle tub. Wigs, perfume, heels. Dancing. Dinner in the Life Cafe, wine and beer. Smiling at strangers in the street, their smiles in return. Walking in the park at twilight on a summer's evening. The first glow of the rising sun leaking through a gap in the curtains. My mom, my dad. Celebrating life and laughter with Mimi and Roger and Mark and Maureen and Joanne... and bed, soft warm covers, lying beside my Collins, his big hand on mine, his heart determinedly beating against my backbone.

The doctor clears his throat and continues. It's useless. I have no options; I am here, in this room, the four walls surround me and I can't run. I can't close my ears - part of me wants to hear. I need to hear what this means.

"All the signs are pointing to the disease being in its last stage."

I don't breathe. I don't know what I've said, or that I've said a word, until it's out of my mouth.

"How long do I have?"

The doctor sucks in air and stares at the vinyl flooring. "It's hard to say. Months, perhaps even weeks. Ya know? Days...what it boils down to is that you simply can't fight off infections. There's a possibility we might be able to pull you through, but.." He shakes his head. "It could be any time now. Put it this way, we've lost AIDS patients who had more T-cells than you have." He gets up, and I do too, because there's a line of us outside waiting for his knowledge, and Collins will be waiting for me at home, and we want this little heart-to-heart over and done. "Again, I'm very sorry. There's support available; you only have to ask. There are groups, and...do you have the support of your family?"

"My parents are dead, unfortunately, and I don't have any siblings."

"Do you have a partner?"

"Yes."

"They been tested?"

"Yes. He tested positive before we met."

"OK, well..." He smiles tiredly and offers me his hand to shake. "We'll see you soon."

I run. I'm out on the sidewalk now, and the last warmth of summer is in the breeze, yet I sense the first chill of fall and the coming winter months. Who'd have thought it? Angel Dumott Schunard, such a glass-half-full person...I chuckle harshly. Tears burn behind my eyes but I keep them at bay. I hurl myself forward, feet pounding, pulse thumping against my throat, I should be too weak to run but digesting what I've now learned will only make me weaker, I have to keep running, running from it, proving them wrong, look, I'm running, only somebody with clean healthy blood could run like this, like a gazelle; I'll prove him wrong, prove them all wrong, I can't die, I'm too young, I'm in love, I owe this planet in all its green and blue glory so much more...

I'm at the bottom of the spiral stairwell leading up to the apartment. I bend over, retching and gasping for oxygen. I cough and cough and cough, my throat cold and aching. An electric current pulsates through my head; the pain sears. I cough until a trapdoor in my chest seems to snap shut. Now I wheeze, I pant, and spirals dance before my eyes, and I'm going to collapse, and my last moments will be lost to terror...hands, on my shoulders, pulling me close to the core of a strong body. I'd know those gentle hands anywhere.

"Ang. Angel! It's OK, sweetheart. I've got you. It's OK."

"Collins!" I choke. A storm is surging through my veins at full speed.

"I've got you."

The world churns on by, my eyes kaleidoscopes...the colours twist and blur into three, two, one. The storm rages through the woods, trees clawing at my face. The church bell chimes slowly, thirteen times, as the rain lashes and thunder crackles and white light flashes through the shards of dark sky, and the hooded demon chases me, he's faster than me, he's coming for me and I can't get away...

I fall on my knees, throwing up all down myself.

Silence. Stillness. Collins is holding me.

I seem to have reached the eye of the hurricane.

"I'm sorry, hon," I croak, my voice barely there. "I didn't mean to hurl on you."

He says nothing for a moment. Until, softly, gruffly, "Come here." He gathers me in his arms, as if I were a baby, and carries me up the steps. He left the door unlocked - he'd gotten back from NYU and been sitting in the kitchen, trying to drink a cup of coffee but worrying too much. He wanted to come with me to the hospital and kept trying to persuade me to let him, but I put my foot down. Mimi offered to come too, but I didn't want them there. They'll have to hear it for themselves, someday, and I didn't want to be the one to put them through it twice. Through the door, into our bedroom, he changes me into sweatpants and a shirt, and throws on something almost identical himself - neither of us are in the mood for dressing up. Into the bathroom, he puts the clothes I covered in vomit into the sink, running the faucet. He brings me a glass of water and tucks me up in bed, wrapping me up in my homemade patchwork quilt, and sits down beside me. I begin to cry.

"Baby," he murmurs, stroking my cheek. "Baby. I'm here."

I sob. "I don't want to say goodbye! I'm scared!"

"Ssssh," he says, combing my hair with his fingertips. His eyes gleam and he blinks hard, momentarily glancing over his shoulder at the whitewashed wall. I'd paint it a soft shade of rose but my landlord, though a little less of an asshole than Benny, wouldn't be amused. "Oh, Angel," he says hoarsely. He pauses, gulping. "We could go to Life Support later, if you feel well enough."

I nod, rivulets of tears trickling down my face. Never so badly have I needed our friends at Life Support. Mimi promised she'd come tonight, bless her heart. They'll hold my hand, I know they will.

Collins wipes my eyes with his thumbs. I manage a watery smile. He threads his fingers through mine, and we hold hands, the two of us alone in the quiet, slowly breathing.


End file.
